Ice Packs and Big Brothers
by CamsthiSky
Summary: In which Jason is actually a good big brother, even if he doesn't care for his siblings in the most conventional way.


**yorulun** **asked:** _Prompt 2 for Damian and Jason where Damian got a couple of cracked or broken ribs but decided to keep quiet about it because he think Tim or Dick need to be attended to first but Jason realized it somehow and confronted him about it but Damian just shrugged it off saying that he is used to it. Dami's time in the League reminded me way too much of child abuse and Jason understand that. So he agreed to keep quiet about it and take care of Damian himself. Just general bat bro hurt and comfort._

Anonymous asked: _For the angst prompts please? "It's okay. I'm used to it." Damian and anybody? I can't decide.._

* * *

There's a knock at the door.

Jason turns over under the blankets grumpily and peers at the clock. _3:14_ in the fucking morning. He's not awake enough to answer the—

 _There's a knock at the door._

Jason bolts upright, grabbing the gun underneath his pillow, because as far as he knows, nobody knows where he lives. He'd _just_ moved in last week, and there's no way that anybody could have gotten a hold of this address. By all rights and purposes, it should still be empty.

It makes him wary, and as he passes the living room couch, he grabs his other gun to shove into his pants waistband. Just for extra protection. Just in case.

The knock comes again, and it's more insistent this time. _"Todd!"_ the Demon Brat's voice sounds from the other side. _"Todd, I know you're in there. Open up!"_

God dammit.

Jason rolls his eyes, drops his gun on the kitchen counter and makes his way over to the door. Somehow, they've found him again. It hadn't even been a full week, and Damian's found him.

He's not sure what he's expecting when he opens the door. Maybe the rest of the Bats to attack—or in Dick's case, attack with cuddles. What he _doesn't_ expect is for Damian—full Robin uniform—to be wearing a deeper scowl than usual and Tim—Red Robin, cowl down—to be supporting—

"Is that _Dick?"_ Jason asks, barely thinking before he's rushing forward to help the Replacement hold Nightwing's unconscious body. "What the hell happened?"

"Ambush," Tim says breathlessly.

Damian nods, looking more unsettled than Jason has ever seen before, and when he speaks, his voice is flat and unemotional. "We didn't see them until they'd already stabbed Grayson."

Jason leads them into his new apartment that he will _definitely_ not be staying in for very much longer after this, and he helps Tim drag Dick's ass into the bathroom so he can bleed out in the tub instead of on Jason's carpet.

Once they shove Dick's uniform down to his waist, Jason holds Dick up so he doesn't slip down into the bathtub and snaps his fingers at Tim. "Frist aid kit. Under the sink."

Tim nods jerkily and grabs it, handing it over, and Jason gets to work.

The stab wound isn't too bad if you can consider a stab wound to the shoulder not too bad. But it isn't bleeding much anymore, and Jason checks Dick over for any other injuries, and finds nothing but a particular nasty bump on the back of his head. Explains why the idiot is unconscious, at least.

"Explain," Jason says, his tone cold as he dresses the shoulder wound. "Now."

"We don't know who they were," Tim starts, but he's immediately interrupted by Damian.

"You mean _you_ don't know who they were," Damian sneers, small hands gripping the bathroom counter tightly. "They were after me and Grayson, from a case we worked as—when Grayson was still Batman."

"Sounds fun," Jason says as he wraps the bandages around Dick's arm. "Not what I meant, though."

"There was five of them," Tim tells him, and he sounds a little awed when he says it, like he can't really believe his own words. "Dick took the most hits out of the three of us. He was fighting three on one, I think. Damian and I only had one each."

Jason glares at them, just as he finishes tucking in the last piece of gauze. "Okay, let me make this real clear. I don't care who you were fighting as long as they don't come here. First question, yes or nor. Are either of you hurt?"

"No," Tim and Damian chorus.

"Second question. Did anyone follow you?"

"No," they say again.

"Third, and please," Jason says, "don't hold back on my account. I want to hear your reasons for coming _here_ of all places. And how do you even know about this place?"

"Bruce figured it out," Tim says, eyes flicking to Damian, then Dick, and then back to Jason. "And Bruce is out of the country with Alfred right now. Leslie wasn't picking up and the Cave's too far away. You were the closest."

"Great," Jason huffs, closing his eyes and wishing he had the patience to deal with two hypervigilant Robins right now at three in the fucking morning. But he really doesn't, because he's not Dick freaking Grayson, so he just snaps, "Tim, go grab some ice packs from the freezer."

Tim hesitates, but he doesn't argue like Jason expects him to. Instead, he's out of the bathroom and on his way to the kitchen, leaving Jason alone with Damian and an unconscious Dick.

Jason immediately turns to Damian, eyes blazing. "Where?" he demands.

Damian stiffens defensively, the scowl back on his face. "Where _what?"_

"You're way too quiet for someone who just watched their favorite Batman get stabbed," Jason tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. He also noticed that Damian hadn't move from his chosen spot next to the counter. "Where are you hurt?"

Damian scoffs. "I told you, Todd. I'm not—"

"Just shut the fuck up for two seconds, Damian," Jason says. "It's the middle of the night, Dick is unconscious and bleeding in my bathtub, Tim's shaken up, and you're hurt. Where did you get hit?"

Damian hesitates only another second before he's deflating tiredly to sit on the closed toilet lid, holding his upper half up oddly. "One pushed me into the adjacent building," Damian says, his voice harsh and full of self-loathing. "I'm afraid that my ribs may be bruised."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jason asks angrily, crouching in front of the Robin.

Damian still has his mask on, so Jason can't see his eyes, but his body is tense and his expression twists into a sneer. It's enough for Jason to know exactly what's going through the brat's head. "There was no _need_ to say anything. I'm okay. I'm used to it."

"So?" Jason says, and Tim chooses that exact moment to come stumbling back into the bathroom, ice packs in hand. He freezes, looking between Jason and Damian warily, and Jason stands up, takes one of the ice packs and tosses it to Damian. "Who cares if you're used to getting hurt. What would Dickie say if he realized that you didn't say anything and then you got worse?"

Damian doesn't seem to like the question, but he catches the ice pack and wordlessly lifts his tunic to place it against his ribs. But Jason doesn't really care if Damian says anything at this point. He's angry and tired and he doesn't want to be _responsible_ for this. He just wants Dick to wake up and take back the job of Robin caretaker. It's not something Jason can handle right now.

And yet, he does it anyways, pulling Tim the rest of the way into the bathroom and sitting him next to the tub. Tim wordlessly places the ice packs on Dick's bruises, and— _finally_ —Dick moves. Flinches away from the cold. But he doesn't stir, and Tim keeps the ice packs there.

Jason rubs his eyes tiredly. "I'm going to go make some breakfast," Jason announces. "And by the time I'm done, I want all injuries treated. I don't want Bruce over here complaining about one of you collapsing on my carpet."

"Who died and made _you_ Batman?" Tim murmurs, and Jason bristles, but one glance at the guy has Jason realizing that Tim doesn't even seem to be aware that he's said anything. So—for once—Jason lets it go.

"New rule," Jason decides, looking between both Tim and Damian. "If it's bleeding, you bandage it. If it's bruised, you ice it. If it's injured, you treat it. Otherwise you leave my apartment and you don't come back."

And before Tim and Damian can say anything to that, Jason spins on his heel and leaves the bathroom behind. He's not cut out for this responsibility crap, and he'd much rather drown out the rest of his anger in flipping pancakes anyways.


End file.
